


The Night of the Colossus

by NervousAsexual



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cyborgs, Episode: s01e16 The Night of the Steel Assassin, Gen, Mentioned Hypnosis, Not a Crossover, Prophetic Visions, Self-Sacrifice, The Colossus of New York ties into it all, Transhumanism, because they are both self-sacrificing doofuses, it's wierd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27718327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/pseuds/NervousAsexual
Summary: Artie is unreasonably empathetic toward Torres and not entirely sure why.
Relationships: Artemus Gordon & James West
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	The Night of the Colossus

**Author's Note:**

> TL;DR Watch The Colossus of New York because it's really good. All of the flash-forwards in this story take place in that universe but hopefully this will sense even if you haven't seen the movie.
> 
> Before he was Artemus Gordon, Ross Martin played the title role in The Colossus of New York. His character is a brilliant scientist who is killed in a senseless accident, and his father, rather than "deprive" the world of the things his son could have accomplished, opts to put his brain inside a giant creepy robot thing.
> 
> Despite being sixty years old it's a really, really good movie and makes some good points about how a person's humanity is tied to their interactions with the world, which I think was the point, and about essentially sacrificing one man for the "good" of humanity. When it's first powered on the Colossus is understandably panicked and begs his father and brother to destroy him, but the father insists that he has too much to offer the world and refuses to do it. It's kinda heartbreaking to watch him slowly lose everything that made him the person he was in life, especially when you factor in the scientist's wife and son, who have no idea he's still alive in some capacity and are grieving him.

Artie came back from that cellar different, and Jim didn't know what to think.

"Some lot I learned," he said, sinking down onto the davenport. "Enough to get us to walk into a trap knowingly, and..." He rubbed at his shoulder and winced. "...and a needle down to the bone."

"What?"

"Our friend wanted to make sure I was in a proper trance before I came to lure you to your death, so he..." Artie pantomimed driving a needle deep into his shoulder. "Lord, Jim, pretending not to feel that is the greatest piece of acting I've ever done, and no one will ever know."

"We'll know," Jim said. "And when this is over so will Grant."

"True. And so will Torres, when we show up ready for him. There's something... different about that man."

"Is it the steel body that gave it away? Or the powers of suggestion?"

"You're a laugh as always, Jim. No, I mean that he's so familiar. Not visually, although I'll grant you that face will probably haunt my nightmares for a while. But it's like I've heard of something like this happening." Artie frowned at the floor. He rubbed at his temple with two fingers. "I'm not sure when, or where, or who, but I'm certain this isn't the first time I've heard of a man who should be dead living in a metal body."

And there was a look on his face, like he was trying to remember something important, that worried Jim. "The French have a word for that, Artie. Deja vu."

"That's two words, my boy." Artemus kept staring for a moment, then finally gave himself a shake and smiled. "I'll think on it. In the meantime, shall we give Mr. Torres exactly what he's looking for?"

Though Jim hated the confusion in Artie's eyes he nodded, and he let Artie lead the way to the horses just the same.

How long ago was Dr. Arcularis? Not long, in the grand scheme of things. And he had successfully broken Artie--had broken both of them, really. Was it possible that somehow Torres had wormed his way into Artie's consciousness as well? His powers of suggestion were clearly strong enough to convince Nina Gilbert she was a dancing saloon girl, and Nina Gilbert was one of the most stubborn, least impressionable women he'd ever met. Meanwhile Artie, while mulish at times, was the most empathetic man he'd ever met. Maybe it was an effect of the acting career, but he was pretty sure that Artie could empathize with a flea, if necessary, so how difficult would it have been for him to empathize with Torres' tragic backstory, despite all the heinous things the man had done?

As they rode back to town, though, Jim felt ashamed of himself. The two of them were meant to trust each other completely, and Artie had given him no real reason to doubt him.

He was getting paranoid, he thought dryly. It wasn't a good look on him.

They left the horses at the gates of the fairgrounds and made their way through the crowds as blatantly as possible. Any henchman of Torres' would see them coming in a heartbeat.

"Won't he be surprised to see us," Artie said, elbowing him in the ribs. When Jim glanced at him he subtly jerked his head at a man some distance behind them. Despite his cheerful clothes and the bouquet of balloons he carried in his hand the man looked stern and restless. One of Torres' men, no doubt.

"Let's check the funhouse one more time," Jim said, and Artie nodded. The two of them paid their entrance fee and stepped into that bizarre hall of mirrors to wait.

They did not have to wait long. When the man stepped into the darkness Jim hit him in the chest hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs and Artie followed up with a heavy blow to the back of the head. They left the unconscious man trussed up behind the mirrors.

"I don't agree, of course, but I can see where he's coming from. Can't you, Jim?"

Jim pulled himself from his thoughts and raised his head to his partner. "Can't what? Sorry, I wasn't really listening."

Artie chuckled. "You, my dear boy, need a break. When this is over I'm going to wire Washington and tell them we're taking an emergency detour to... to Frisco, maybe." He lowered his voice. "Torres. His methods leave a lot to be desired, but he's understandably upset. Isn't that human nature? What happened was an accident, but the idea of anything being an accident means we don't have complete control of our life or the universe, and it's easier to place the blame on men instead of meaningless chance."

"You're going philosophical on me again, Artie."

"I apologize. Maybe I could use a break myself."

Jim watched him from the corner of his eye. Nothing was wrong. He was alarming himself over nothing.

"I almost feel sorry for him, though. Everything that's happened, is happening, it must be hell."

It was nothing, Jim reminded himself as he held the door to the prison dungeons for his partner. It was nothing. "I doubt he wants your sympathy, Artie. Besides, isn't that the common goal of humanity? We are all afraid to die, and he's figured out a way to avoid it."

"I don't know, Jim, to have to live like that, to slowly lose your grip on everything that made you human... that's a fate worse than death."

"You can't possibly know that's what's happening."

"Alright, so maybe 'know' is a strong word. But I'll bet you my next month's pay that's what's happening. I've seen it before."

"Ah. Uh-huh." Jim leaned forward conspiratorially. "Where, Artie?"

"That's the part that stumps me. I don't know where. It's hard to think. but I... I'm positive I've seen it."

"Artie..."

"Or I will see it."

"Artie, you're losing it."

They stopped in front of the final dungeon door. Whatever was waiting on the other side was ready for them, and they had no way to prepare.

Artie laughed. "Losing it? What makes you think I ever had it?"

Jim had to give him that one. He took the door knob in one hand and patted Artie's shoulder with the other. Moment of truth, he thought, and opened the door.

The tunnel here opened up into a cave, wide and deep and echoing with the sounds of running water. There was an underground spring somewhere nearby, and a path wound its way along the walls down to the floor of the cave some twenty feet below. He gestured Artie inside, took a deep breath, and followed. He didn't speak, even when the shadows behind the door moved and the gun barrel nestled roughly against his neck.

"Mr. West," Torres said calmly, as if they were meeting at a Washington soiree and not the site of an attempted assassination.

"Mr. Torres."

"It's been quite some time. I thought Mr. Gordon was having trouble finding the place."

"No trouble," Artie said. "Just stopped for some frankfurters and a jaunt through the funhouse."

Torres stepped around beside him, dragging the gun around to point at the base of Jim's jaw. "Don't you ever tire of joking? There are lives on the line."

Artie looked at Jim. His eyes flicked from Jim's to Torres and back. With the gun against his jaw Jim didn't dare nod, so he gave a long blink of assent.

"Me? No, definitely not. Someone has to keep this partnership lively, don't they, Jim?"

"Someone does have to keep the partnership lively, Torres," Jim agreed. "And we all have to play to..."

He ducked forward sharply, pulling away from the gun, and before Torres could aim again Artie was crouched at his side and Jim slammed into the steel assassin's shoulder as hard as he could. His own shoulder hurt like hell from the impact but it did what it was supposed to. Torres stumbled into Artie, overbalanced, and fell over him with a crash. Jim ran down the path, one shaking hand trying to pull a smoke pellet from his pocket. He turned to throw it, just in time to see one of Torres' hands lock around Artie's upper arm and his other strike him across the face with a sickening crack.

Torres stood still for a moment, panting, holding to Artie's arm like a child holding a ragdoll.

"I see why Ulysses is so fond of you," he said at last. He opened his hand and Artie collapsed to the floor, unconscious, dead, Jim couldn't tell at this distance. "You two have a plan for everything, don't you?" He began his slow, lumbering, unstoppable descent along the path. "It's a shame. Both of you would have made excellent inside men."

Jim's eyes moved rapidly between Torres and Artemus. There was no acting in the world that would allow a man to go that limp. It was up to him now.

"Are you absolutely sure I can't tempt you?" Under Torres' weight tiny rocks, bits of dirt, all of it broke free from the path and came skittering down toward Jim. "You understand why I have no faith in your free will, but once you're broken we could do great things together."

"I'll pass." Jim began to back cautiously down the path. "If I'm going to do great things I think I'd rather be aware of doing them. Thanks, though."

Torres shook his head. "One of you is as bad as the other."

"Why, Colonel Torres, you are a flatterer."

"And you are a dead man walking."

Torres moved quickly for a man made of steel, lurching forward, both arms outstretched. Jim threw the smoke pellet into his face with all his might. The weight of the steel man carried him forward, grasping wildly, but his hands closed around nothing at all and Jim slipped past. His eyes swept over the cavern wall, looking for the slightest crack or flaw. Nothing. Nothing. The door, then.

Behind him Torres was practically shrieking in rage but he didn't dare look back to assess. He ran to the crumpled form on the ground.

"Artie." He shook his partner's shoulder. "Artie, you gotta get up."

The left side of Artemus' face was already badly bruised, and there was every possibility that the bones under his skin were fractured, but he stirred a little. "Jim?" he asked. His eyes were slightly glassy and the left was bloodshot--an even worse prognosis.

"Hi, Artie. Get up." He grabbed Artie's jacket with both hands and hauled him up to a sitting position. "We're leaving."

Artie brought his fingers up to his face and winced. "I'm up. I'm..."

And then a cold, unyielding hand closed around the back of Jim's neck and he found himself slung over the edge of the path.

He fell for what was no more than a moment but felt like a century and he struck the ground hard--probably a rib or two gave. For a moment he lay there stunned, staring across the cavern to where it opened into, not a spring, but an entire underground river. That explained the sound, he thought, but there was no time. He rolled hard to one side, trying to get himself up onto his knees. His eyesight blurred but he could make out Artemus, moving toward Torres, and the iron man moving toward him, and with everything he had left he shouted, "Stop!"

And they froze. As his voice died away in the cavern, they stood frozen and looked down at him.

All it would take was the lightest tap, he thought dizzily. It would be so easy for Torres to strike even the most glancing blow to Artie's head, and it would kill him this time.

He pulled in a deep breath. "Don't, Artie. It's not worth it."

"Jim..."

"No. No, it's not worth your life." He staggered to his feet, leaning hard against the wall. He turned to Torres. "He's no threat to you. Look at him, he can barely stand."

Artie shook his head. The act seemed to make him stagger slightly.

"I'm the one who'll cause trouble for you. So why don't you just come down here and we'll settle this once and for all."

Torres was silent for a moment. "If only my comrades were half as noble as you, Mr. West. But would your friend do the same for you?"

Jim spread his arms. "You said it yourself. One of us is as bad as the other."

Artie's face was tight with pain but he looked up when Torres spoke to him.

"You have a good friend, Mr. Gordon." Torres brushed past him, catching his shoulder hard enough that Artie stumbled backward and for a moment Jim's heart was in his throat before his partner caught himself. "You should consider yourself to be beyond blessed."

Artie backed into the wall. "Always have." He leaned heavily on the wall but didn't go down again.

"And you," Torres continued, the sound of his heavy footsteps echoing across the cavern, "you, Mr. West, are entirely too good for Ulysses."

Jim pressed a hand to his ribs and tried to take stock. Bullets were useless. Hand-to-hand would only hurt one of them. Smoke pellet... he slid his hand down toward the pocket and felt for the capsule. It was gone, probably lost during the scuffle.

The water, then.

"This is it, then?" he asked, taking a few careful steps from the wall, putting himself between Torres and the river. "You'd kill us for what you think those men did to you."

"I know what they did to me!" Torres screamed. His voice was like a bullet to the head. "And yes, yes, a thousand times yes! If you won't allow justice to take its course then you can go to hell with the rest of them!"

"This is justice?" Jim took a step back and Torres took a step forward. "Come on. I've read your dossier, Torres. I know you were an honorable man. You have to know this isn't right."

"They cheated me out of my life! Oh, you don't know Ulysses like you think you do." Torres laughed mirthlessly. He took another step forward and Jim took another step back. "There was a party the night it happened, you see. Of course all of us wanted to go but somebody had to stay and guard the armory. When we drew cards I drew first--a jack. A jack, West. What are the odds that six men will all draw higher than a jack?"

"Slim. But not impossible. And the cannon fire that hit, they couldn't have known..."

Torres stamped his foot into the cavern floor, leaving an inch-deep indentation. "They cheated! I should have been at that party instead of lying in pieces in the remains of the armory!" He fell quiet. "They should be grateful, really. If I wanted to I could make them feel every last second of the pain I felt after that explosion. Every minute I spent with my eyes open, watching some barely competent sawbones fish around in my chest, every day I lay there in that hospital, for years and years, with nothing to show for it but what I made for myself--I could have given them this. But I'm merciful. I could have carved each of them to pieces and left them to burn in the same hell I lived in, but I didn't. Everyone of them I killed quickly. A few minutes of terror in exchange for the years I suffered... It's more than fair." He paused for a moment, his steel fists trembling in rage. "Even you have to see that."

"No," Jim admitted. "What I see is a man who's clearly lost his mind."

That did it. Torres roared and charged him, head low, barely a blur in Jim's still slightly-fuzzy eyesight. At the last second Jim stepped out of his way but the man seemed to be expecting that, stopped running, slid to a halt and before Jim could run the steel fingers closed around his throat.

"This is not a game!" Torres shouted. The distortion in his voice was worse and for a moment Jim reached to cover his ears instead of to pull at Torres' grip. "I am more sane than I ought to be!" He pulled Jim along. Jim fought to get free, to get some traction on the ground, to slow him, anything, and then Torres slammed him into the wall so hard he heard another rib give way. "Those years of agony should have driven me insane, but I am more lucid than I have ever been in my life." He pulled him forward, slammed him back against the wall. He lifted Jim as easily as he would a scrap of paper, pinning him at a point where no matter how he stretched and struggled he couldn't touch the floor. It was a struggle to get the tiniest breath into his lungs. "Ulysses Grant's life ends here. So does yours. And when I'm done with you, so will Mr. Gordon's."

"You're not... a... man," Jim gritted out. "Just... just a soulless..."

"He isn't."

The voice came from the end of the path and out of the corner of his eye Jim could just make out Artie limping toward them. "Art... get... out of here..."

If Artie heard he ignored him. "Put him down, Torres. I've got something to say."

Torres scoffed, but he lowered Jim until his feet were firmly on the floor.

"Let him go." Artie leaned against the wall beside them.

"Never going to happen, Gordon."

Jim fought like hell to make eye contact but Artemus refused to so much as look at him. Run, he wanted to beg him, but in the condition Artie was in he wouldn't get far. He looked like a dead man walking.

"He's not a monster, Jim." Artie still didn't look at him. "Calling him that only makes it worse. He's just a man like any of us."

Torres laughed at that. "You don't agree with your friend? You don't find me soulless?"

Artie shook his head. "I never believed in things like souls and spirits. Everything a man is, was, will be, it's all tied up there between his ears." He bit his lip and for the briefest of seconds his eyes strayed over to Jim. "But there's more to it, isn't there? If you couldn't see or hear or feel, if you had no sensations at all, if you existed in a vacuum and you always had, would you still be human?"

Oh, no.

"If you had never loved or hated or felt fear or anger or joy, what would make you human? And if you had done all those things, if they were all..." He rubbed too hard at his temples. "...if someone took them away from you. How would you know you were human?"

For a moment the only sound was that of the river. This was just a stalling tactic, Jim told himself. Artie had a plan.

"It's so easy for us to say it's all in the mind because we don't know any different." Finally he turned and his eyes met Jim's. "Or at least, you don't, Jim."

He shifted his grip on Torres' hands. "Not a vacuum, Artie. You're looking at him. He's look... looking at you."

Artie shook his head. "No, I know that. But if something happened, if I..." He rubbed at his forehead, face still contorted in pain and now a frown as well. "If I were hit by a delivery truck tomorrow, died in a snap, that's all the senses cut out. A man could go crazy living like that too long."

Jesus, Artie. "'cept he wouldn't be. He'd be dead."

Artie waved him off irritably, still rubbing at his head. "But if he wasn't. If something that should have killed him did, but he kept living... if there were some force that wouldn't let him go..." A look of overwhelming grief passed over Artie's face before he drew himself up to his full height and looked directly into Torres' eyes. "I know what you are. You're past feeling pain and whatever's keeping you here, the metal parts or what have you, it won't let you do the thing that comes most naturally to a man. It won't let you die. And you want to, because everything you lost is what made your life worth living."

His voice was cracking in all the wrong ways. It wasn't stalling. Something was very, very wrong. "Artie..."

"And you asked them, goddammit, you begged them to destroy you, but it would be selfish to do that, wouldn't it, depriving the world of... but what about you? Don't they care about the things you've been deprived of?"

"You know nothing about me." Suddenly Torres' hand opened and Jim could breathe. Sparks went off behind his eyes and he fell heavily to the ground. He was aware that Torres was moving toward Artie but his body felt like he was swimming in molasses. "How stupid can one man be?" He took a step toward Artie and Artie slid back a step along the wall. "Everything I have done I did to stay alive. To live my life. Everything. And you, what... you want to die? Because I can oblige, Mr. Gordon."

Run. Jim looked up and all he could see was Artie, expressionless, looking up into Torres' eyes. Damn it, Artie, you can't empathize with him. Just run...

"I very much want to live, which is why Ulysses Grant must die. He tried to kill me before. He'll do it again. And you... you... meaningless pawns will throw your lives away for him."

Jim's head felt like it was splitting open but he breathed as normally as he could. He pushed against the wall to stand.

"I will say one thing for you. You aren't afraid to die. I was. Oh, how I was."

Artie said nothing. Even as the cold steel fingers closed around his throat he said nothing. Even as they squeezed.

Jim said nothing too. Words were Artie's thing, after all, not his. So instead of speaking Jim threw himself at Torres as hard as he could, once again slamming his shoulder against the man's side hard enough to leave a bruise and knocking them all to the ground. It must have been something of a surprise because when they struck the ground Artie twisted out of his grip, and when Torres reached for him again Jim shoved his partner aside and with every ounce of strength in him he kicked Torres' chest.

The force of it was enough to send him over the narrow embankment and into the river.

For a moment Jim only stared, barely comprehending what had happened. Then he gave himself a good hard shake and looked around. "Artie?" He found his partner lying on his side not far away, where he'd fallen, and he'd fallen hard. "Jesus, Artie, are you alright?"

Artie winced. "I'm fine. Get Torres."

Yeah, he thought, Artie was definitely himself.

Torres was clinging to the shore, almost his entire body lost beneath the water.

"I should have heeded the wisdom of the knights of old," he said, his voice suddenly very sober. "Always avoid water deeper than your head."

"Come on." Jim held out a hand.

"What?"

"Grab my hand. We'll get you out of there..."

"Grab your hand," Torres echoed with a disbelieving chuckle. "You know, I think I would have done just that, Mr. West, in another life. But do you know the one thing that scares me more than drowning?"

Jim grabbed for his arm but once again the steel man was too fast for him. Torres let go of the shore and pushed himself back into the river.

"Hanging," he said, and he vanished beneath the water.

* * *

When he'd wired his report through to Washington Jim went off in search of Artie and found him sitting on the steps to the train car, leaning his right side against the railing and looking quietly out over the Texas scrub.

"Mind if I join you?" Jim asked.

"You're always welcome, dear boy."

Jim lowered his own sore body onto the steps, carefully ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs, and fixed his own gaze on the horizon. Beside him Artie sighed. The left side of his face was blackened with bruises now, but President Grant's own personal physician assured them that the greatest danger had passed, so long as Artie let himself rest. This meant, the doctor said, no horses, no moving trains, nothing more strenuous than a short walk (and no letting giant steel men try to strangle him, Jim had added. Somebody had to keep their partnership lively, Artie had returned.)

"How're you feeling?"

"How am I feeling?" Jim laughed. "I'm fine, but I should be the one asking you that question. How are you feeling?"

"I'm just peachy."

"We were very lucky you have such a hard head." Artie smiled faintly. Jim's own smile faded. "Listen, Artie. Those things you said back there..."

"I think I've got it almost figured out," Artie interrupted. "Where I've seen it before. Except I haven't, not just yet."

He sighed. "Artie..."

"The things I'm remembering, the man who wants to die and can't--it's me, Jim. I'm the one that's trapped in the vacuum." He closed his eyes. "It hasn't happened yet so it's hard to remember. But there's a boy, and an accident, and a man who refuses to let me stay dead. It's all a bit of a blur, but I remember that much, and I remember screaming for them to destroy me. I didn't want--won't want--any of it."

What could he say to that? "Sounds like something Dr. Loveless might dream up."

"Yes, I suppose it is." Artie gingerly touched the bruises on his face. "I'm not sure who the man is. Sometimes he's older, sometimes not. But he says he's got to do this, because if he let me go it would be depriving the world of all the things I should have given." He jerked himself forward sharply, hardly seeming to notice as Jim lurched to catch him. He let himself be pulled in to lean against Jim's shoulder.

"You know I'd never let something like that happen to you," Jim told him, and Artemus smiled.

"I know, Jim. I know you would do whatever it took. But I don't think we know each other. Not in that life."

It took a lot to spook James West, but this was making his skin crawl. "You underestimate me, Artemus. This life, the next life, wherever. I'll be there for you. I'll find a way."

Artie gave a single soft laugh. "Maybe you will. I still don't know how it all ends."

They were silent for a moment. Artie leaned his temple against Jim's shoulder--the rest of his face was a mass of bruises and broken bone. There was nothing Jim could do to fix that, just as there was nothing he could do to comfort him through all this. He didn't understand. He got the feeling he never would.

"Think you can de-hypnotize Miss Grant?" he asked at last.

"Hm." Artie sighed. "I'm sure I can figure something out. But not tonight."

"No, of course not. I'll ride into town tomorrow and see if I can't convince her to join us out here."

"She's happy like this. Not a care in the world. Let her have a little more time, before she has to find out what he did to her."

"She's something, all right." He would hate to be there when she did find out.

They watched the sunset in silence. Somewhere off in the distance a coyote howled, and for just a moment the world was still.

Eventually Artie pushed himself back up, wincing as he did so.

"Thank you, James," he said. "For everything. You self-sacrificing, foolish, wonderful...."

"What can I say. One of us is as bad as the other." Jim mentally prepared himself to stand, no matter what his broken ribs thought. "Can I offer you a drink?"

"My dear boy, I thought you would never ask."


End file.
